One cold December afternoon found Harry trudging through snow, making his way to Hagrid's on his own. Hermione had decided to stay in the library and finish an essay, and Ron had gone to see Madam Pomfrey because he had a cold.
Hagrid wasn't in his cabin when Harry arrived. Only Jeanne was there, sitting by the fireplace with a large, empty tankard in one hand, and Hagrid's pink umbrella in the other.
"Hagrid said he was taking Fang to the lake to look at something," she said to Harry. "If you wait a while, he'll probably be back soon."
"OK," said Harry. He looked at the tankard in her hand.
"What are you doing?" he asked curiously.
She held a finger to her lips.
"It's Hagrid's Christmas present. Don't let him know."
"A tankard?" said Harry, surprised.
She smiled.
"Well, I can't afford much, you know," she said, "and I want something Hagrid will find useful. He likes drinking. Once I've decorated it, it'll be a good enough present. Look."
She held the tip of the umbrella to the rim of the tankard, so that it was almost touching it, and traced a wavy shape in the air. A delicate pattern of flowers and leaves appeared, etched in the metal, following the direction of the umbrella.
Harry was fascinated.
"It's nice," he said. "But you don't really need the umbrella, do you?"
Jeanne looked rather surprised, then saw him looking at her tunic.
"Ah, yes, I conjured this up, without a wand," she said, glancing down at her green and brown clothing. "I could try conjuring up a finished tankard, I suppose, but I'm not really good at conjuring metal. I'm much better with fabric."
She saw that Harry was looking puzzled, and smiled.
"When I was in Russia, we lived among the Muggles, I suppose because that made it more difficult for Deorg to find us. My foster mother used to run a dressmaker's shop, so I had plenty of practice conjuring fabric, and became fairly proficient after a while."
Harry remembered something Lupin had said.
"In Kamchatka, some of the wizards don't need wands to do magic," he said.
Jeanne looked at him in surprise. She placed the tankard and umbrella in her lap, and looked thoughtful.
"That's different," she said. "It has to do with the volcanoes…they're the source of a powerful type of magic. Their magic is in the air, all around. It affects the way we perform some of our usual spells - did you notice? Like the way we Apparate…"
She picked up the tankard and umbrella again.
"Some of the wizards there have learned how to draw on the volcanoes' magic. But it's dangerous, if you don't know how to handle it properly. And it only works in Kamchatka, where the volcanoes are."
She began etching a pattern near the base of the tankard with the umbrella.
"Deorg managed to master that art, to some extent," she said. "It made him very dangerous, inside Kamchatka. That's why Dumbledore needed all the other wizards to help him. You need a very fine control, if you're unleashing large amounts of magic. If you draw too much out, you can lose control and end up destroying yourself and anyone else around you."
She looked at the tankard.
"There - I've finished the base and the rim. Now for the final touch."
She held the tankard close to the fire, and concentrated. Harry gave a small gasp of surprise. The tankard was glowing; flames were flickering within its polished metal surface, as if trapped inside it.
"How did you do that?" Harry asked.
Jeanne placed the flickering tankard on the floor at her feet, and sitting cross-legged, looked at it. Her usual sullen expression had disappeared. Instead, she had a dreamy look on her face.
"It's an old and dying art," she said, running her finger idly round the rim of the tankard. "Not many people practise it any more. I learned it when I was little. Sunlight, moonlight, starlight, firelight…I can trap them all within any object. The starlight is the most difficult, because it takes a long time to collect, but I love it the best."
Harry remembered the jewellery shop in Hogsmeade. No wonder she had been so interested in the Starlight Section, he thought.
"Can you teach me?" he asked.
Jeanne frowned slightly.
"I don't really know how," she said slowly. "I wasn't formally taught, as a child. I just watched it being done, and somehow picked it up."
Harry was curious. "Who did you learn it from?"
Her expression softened.
"An elderly gentleman taught me," she replied. "He ran the jewellery shop in our village. That was when we were still living in England…before we fled to Russia."
She paused.
"The other village children didn't like me very much, you know - because I was Chinese, and because I was a shape-shifter," she went on, "so I used to wander around a lot on my own. I was attracted to the pretty things in the jewellery shop. The shopkeeper was a kind old gentleman who was quite liberal with sweets, so I began visiting him very often."
She looked at Harry.
"I wasn't really close to my foster parents. My foster father was a very reserved man. He was my teacher, and he was extremely strict. My foster mother too had a fiery temper. So I turned to the old jeweller for affection. He used to put me on his knee and tell me lots of stories, and listen to all the nonsensical things I had to tell him. I called him "Grandpa" and pretended he was really my grandfather."
She smiled, but there were tears in her eyes.
"What happened to him?" asked Harry, listening intently.
"I never knew," she said sadly. "When we fled, I wasn't allowed to keep in touch with him. My foster father said it was too dangerous. I guess he must have passed away, it was so long ago."
Harry didn't know what to say, so he was silent for a while, staring at the flames leaping within the tankard's shining surface.
There was a crunching of footsteps from outside, and the sound of barking. Jeanne, who had been gazing into the fire, started up.
"Hagrid's back!" she said in a panic, grabbing the tankard and stuffing it into her bag.
Hagrid came in with Fang, shaking snow off his cloak. He had a slightly puzzled look on his face, and hardly seemed to notice Harry.
"Is something wrong?" asked Jeanne, automatically picking up the pink umbrella and pointing it at the melting snow on the floor. The snow sizzled as if on a frying pan, then evaporated.
"Yes an' no," said Hagrid, still frowning and looking puzzled. He sat down and started taking off his boots, still shedding snow from his clothes. Jeanne sat down near him, idly pointing the umbrella at each falling lump of snow and annihilating it just before it reached the floor.
"- brought Fang here down to the lake ter look at them wolf-tracks," continued Hagrid, pulling off one boot, " - but he didn' react the way I expect'd."
A little shower of fine snow fell to the floor as Hagrid jerked off the other boot. Jeanne had lowered the umbrella and was staring at Hagrid. Harry thought she looked more dismayed than surprised.
"Wolf-tracks?" she repeated.
"That's wha' I thought they were," growled Hagrid, shedding his cloak and shaking more snow off it. "But Fang here, he didn' act like they was, when I ask'd him ter look at it, he just sniff'd at it, an' then sat back an' look'd up at me, waggin' his tail, his tongue out of his mouth. He look'd like he was laughin' at me!"
He glared at Fang, who lolled his tongue out in a smile and wagged his tail.
Jeanne looked at Fang, and suddenly laughed. She resumed cleaning up the snow with the umbrella.
Hagrid looked grumpy.
"Beats me what those tracks are. Thought it was wolves, but now I ain't so sure."
Harry jumped up.
"I saw what made them!" he said excitedly. "It must be the same animals I saw a month ago! I saw them running by the lake!"
Jeanne looked up quickly.
"You saw them?"
Harry nodded.
"From the bedroom window. It was full moon that night. They were running along the lake. I couldn't see exactly what they were, but they looked like dogs - or wolves."
Hagrid was frowning at Harry.
"Ain't no dogs on these grounds except fer Fang here. If it's wolves it ain't no good thing - jus' need one or two students ter sneak out o' bed up ter some prank an' run down to the lake, an' get hurt."
"Wolves don't usually attack people, Hagrid," said Jeanne.
"Normal wolves, no," growled Hagrid, "but werewolves do. An' there are plenty o' them in the Forbidden Forest. If they're startin' ter come down to the lake, it ain't no good thing."
A sudden thought came to Harry. He looked at Jeanne, whose face was turned away from him. She was drying up the last of the snow.
No, it can't be, thought Harry.
"Tell you what, Hagrid," said Jeanne, putting the umbrella back in the corner, "why don't I just ask Fang. He should know if they were werewolves or not."
Hagrid's face brightened.
Jeanne went and knelt by Fang, and said something to him. Harry thought it sounded more like she was telling him to do something, rather than asking a question.
Fang gave a few short, sharp barks, then sat back with his tongue lolling out of his mouth. He looked as if he was laughing.
Jeanne smiled, and seemed to be blushing slightly. She stood up, and looked at Hagrid.
"Fang says he has met those two wolves before, Hagrid," she said. "He says he knows them, and that they won't hurt anyone. They just - they just like running by the lake when the moon is full."
Hagrid looked astonished.
"He knows 'em?" he said. "I never knew Fang knew any wolves."
"I must get back to the castle," said Jeanne, picking up her bag. "Madam Pomfrey said I could give her a hand, this evening."
She waved goodbye to Harry, and disappeared through the door. Harry sat staring after her. He felt sure she had not told the entire truth.
